" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. . A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night.
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